Free The Accidental Abduction by Darcie Wilde Page A

“What happened to my hands is I was driving through London like a lunatic without my gloves. And you, incidentally, have no right to demand an account of my doings.”
    â€œWell, you are still my sister.” Genevieve untied her bedraggled straw bonnet. Her auburn hair had come loose from its pins and now trailed in loose ringlets around her neck. “I have every right to know what you’re up to, especially when it involves strange men.”
    Once again, Genny had successfully turned her well-deserved scolding around on Leannah. How on earth did she manage it? “And
you
are still
my
sister,” Leannah reminded her. “My
underage
sister, and I am here to once and for all stop you from marrying Anthony Dickenson.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous.” Genevieve took off her dun-colored topcoat, and shook it out to hang on one of the pegs by the door. “I want to marry him. I am passionately in love.”
    â€œI’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.”
    A knock at the door interrupted them. Mrs. Jessop, grinning from ear to ear, trooped in with her stout arms full of towels and drying sheets. A young girl, still blinking the sleep from her eyes, followed. She carried a tray laden with a teapot, bread, and bowls that, from the savory scent of the steam, contained the long-promised stew. Hunger cramped Leannah’s stomach.
    â€œThere now,” said Mrs. Jessop as she set all the things down on the table. “Mary and I will have the beds turned down presently. And, ahem, we’ve found some dry things for you, Miss . . . ?”
    â€œMrs. Wakefield.”
    â€œJust so. Mrs. Wakefield, and this is the genuine Miss Morehouse, I’m guessing? Yes.” Mrs. Jessop nodded with satisfaction. Leannah suspected the retelling of this story would involve all the local housewives, and many more pots of tea. “Miss Morehouse’s bandbox has been sent up to the room,” Mrs. Jessop went on. “You just get some hot food into you and then it’s all to bed, and everything will be right as nine pence in the morning.” She must have noticed the sisters’ doubtful expressions. “You may trust me, miss,” she said to Genevieve. “Twenty years I’ve kept this house, and I’ve seen plenty of elopements go by. It’s better you put things right with your people sooner rather than later. Now then, Mrs. Wakefield, I’ll take you upstairs and we can get you out of that wet dress. Mary will see to things down here.”
    Meaning Genevieve would not be left alone, in case she was thinking of making another dash for it.
    Leannah followed the landlady gratefully. The room upstairs was chilly, despite the fresh fire in the grate, but like the parlor, it was clean and neat. The same could be said for the plain shift, dress, and stockings the landlady helped her into. She smoothed her wet hair back from her brow. It was going to dry into a mass of tangles. She’d have to ask Mrs. Jessop for a brush or a comb or she’d never get it put right. There were, however, far more urgent matters she needed to attend to first.
    Back down in the parlor, Leannah found Genevieve at the table, tucking into a bowl of stew. The girl, Mary, moved slowly about the room, collecting damp things and folding them all with painstaking neatness. At a nod from Mrs. Jessop, the diligent maid followed her mistress out into the public room, a mountain of wet clothing and towels in her arms.
    Before the door closed, Leannah glimpsed Harry Rayburn standing at the bar with Mr. Dickenson. Their eyes locked, and that instant sent a flutter of nerves through Leannah. Harry raised a glass to her.
    Then the door closed, and he was gone, but knowing he was on the watch made her feel obscurely better. How had this stranger managed so quickly to become a reassuring presence?
    It’s this extraordinary mess that’s done it,
she told